Vagabond
by difficile
Summary: And so he named it Galbana.


**_a/n: I love Vaan…and I'm so sick of Vaan-bashers… So here's a tribute to a strong and ambitious character._**

**_Believe it or not, it's rude not to review._**

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**Vagabond**

_x - opportunities_

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Clouds drape overhead like a thick, gray veil, moving on their own accord across the darkening sky. Vaan strains to see past the patchy blanket of ashen nimbuses in some sort of vain hope to catch a glimpse of the cryptozoic moon, but soon releases a sigh – the lunar eclipse will not be seen by his eyes tonight.

Shame, as nature's exotic rarities always intrigued him. He wonders briefly how everything would look so contrastingly breathtaking if viewed from the sky, and suddenly he trembles with excitement at the mere thought of being suspended into eternity on a silver pair of wings. It is here, surrounded by the cliffs of the Estersand, that Vaan lets his imagination run freely; he dreams of his airship, ponders its name, and nitpicks on every last detail.

_It'll have retractable wings, like that one I saw on that wanted poster in the bazaar,_ Vaan mulls with a pensive look on his face. _And it'll glow in the moonlight, like a star… a shooting star. That'd be a good name, right? Shooting star?_

Vaan soon snorts in amusement at his own thoughts.

…_No. That's corny. _

_What _will_ I name it, then?_ Vaan wonders to himself, leaning against the rocky crevices of the cliffs surrounding his form.

The wide expanse stretching above his cerulean eyes releases its first of many tears, and the raindrops hit Vaan's face like cold cactuar needles, throwing him from his stupor. He flinches at first before adjusting to the icy temperatures of the rain, tense muscles relaxing under one of nature's less-appreciated beauties.

Rain does not come often in Dalmasca. It is a treasure, a savored delicacy among humes yearning for an end to their seemingly incessant drought – and now, with the war raging at its peak, the land of Dalmasca is not the only thing barren and empty from its wake. Vaan mulls over these concepts quietly to himself, watching with faded eyes as the drops tumbling down his bronzed skin coalesce at the tips of his fingers. To be bathed by the purity of rain makes Vaan feel as though is being purged from the inside out.

It makes him wonder why he still burns inside, with a bottomless rage for vengeance and bitterness towards the Empire. This flame can't be doused with simple raindrops, however calming they may be to a certain extent. Vaan watches the droplets with glazed-over eyes, staring at his own tiny reflection through the gathering rivulets tumbling down his arm.

Freedom can help appease this rage, and that is why Vaan dreams of the sky, of an airship, and the taste of vagabond.

_Once I get my airship, _he mulls again, fingers digging into the soft flesh of the desert he knows too well, _it'll glide through the sky like…like rain. She'll have hydraulic supports underneath, so she can glide just barely on the water, too. It'll look so perfect, and no one will ever be able to catch it,_ Vaan thinks as he watches the raindrops gather at the tips of his fingers and drop into the parched sand. He looks for inspiration inside those tiny droplets, hoping to dig a meaningful name out of the clear, enigmatic tears of the sky.

_Galbana._

The one word comes from nowhere, a spontaneous calling of his inner conscience; it is so powerful that Vaan freezes for a moment, face still and contemplative as he registers the three-syllable word.

_Galbana._

It is perfect, he decides suddenly, coming to life under the dark sky. _The Galbana. _It's a beautiful, strong name – Galbana lilies are rare, and only appear at random intervals of time and season. They come and go as they please, and whenever they do show themselves, they are a sight to behold.

And just as quickly as they come, they disappear and reappear all across Ivalice.

_Just like my airship. Just like it's gonna be._

Vaan lets out a little laugh, alone in the midst of surrounding cliffs bleeding the purified water of the skies, and the soaked blonde reaches up to the heavy clouds and laughs again.

It is times like these that dreams do not seem so far away.

_Thank you, Brother._


End file.
